ORIGIN

Pride gave his son a brief glance. There was real emotional distress, and then there was lashing out, and he knew that he'd have to draw a line there somewhere.

"I told you it would wear off soon, Temperance. And it's polite to express gratitude for a gift, you know--to say thank you when something's given to you. It's how you show your appreciation." While still kind, his tone now held mild reproach. Had he been so remiss in teaching them manners-?

His side-glance held a bit of reproach in it, too, but nothing severe; it wasn't a mood-ruining outburst or the like so much as a minor note, if a serious one.

The question rather took him by surprise, and he glanced with curiosity at Temperance. "I don't mind touch, as long as it's with family, but you're right, I don't enjoy it as much as Mercy does. You don't need to," he added; "everyone is different in that regard, and in many others. You don't need to be the same as someone, or even share all their views and likes and dislikes, to get along with them--to even enjoy their company."

His gaze swept back forward as he walked, his pace stately and unhurried. "It was at a difficult time in my life. I struggled with my temper, too--something I'll tell you about when the time's right--and there was a lot of danger and sadness in the caves." He was silent for a beat, pensive, as his mind ran back over that era. It wasn't one he wanted to revisit, really. "I stumbled into a garden, in Eridanus. It was... beautiful, but overgrown. Full of ferns, and flowers, and hanging ivy; it was peaceful and wonderful. And while I was there, Mercy came in. He seemed frightened of me, and I couldn't fathom why--that goes back to his past; perhaps he'll tell you about it, some day. But I tried to reassure him that I was peaceful, and he in turn warmed to me, and welcomed me into his garden. I had not felt so... at home, anywhere, in my whole life; it was like his garden was a sanctuary, his kindness an invitation simply to be myself, to relax. There were no expectations of me, no demands. He simply lay down, and told me a beautiful story, with creatures and situations I knew nothing of and had never heard of, but it held me rapt. And then he told me another story, and another."

Pride remained silent, but his expression was both distant and content at the memories, his voice soft. "Mercy has a way with words. A way with his kindness that I don't share, though I wish I did. He made me feel at peace." He glanced to Temperance. "He's a good lion, your papa."

The apology, and thanks, were met with a gentle nod and a softening of his expression.

But the cub's response to his story of peace and acceptance--of home--was not what he'd expected. Temperance didn't comment on it almost at all; in fact, he simply seemed more miserable, somehow. "Mercy is 'a Mercy,' and yes, I think he'd be good to talk to. That's why we're heading to him, hm? He's understanding, you know. He may have better advice than I can give, or at least comfort."

But now the cub was elaborating; he was 'stuck between,' and listing labels that he didn't feel that he fit into. Pride listened closely--also coming to a slow halt just before him, peering down sidelong. He inhaled, thinking, and after a moment he spoke slowly, gently. "And why do you feel the need to fit yourself into any of those slots, Temperance?" he asked; and that was all he asked, for now. He would address it all once he heard the cub's reasoning, but his question was a gentle one, meant to provoke a little thought of the cub's own first.

This was all, again, so out of nowhere that Pride was rather taken aback. He didn't know where such feelings came from, nor how to properly deal with them and he was rather glad they were headed toward Mercy. Maybe the lion would have a better way to handle such self-loathing. "Temperance, the only one who seems to think you aren't enough is you. If I caught anyone else saying such things about you I would thrash them. I would tell them, 'Temperance is my child, and is perfectly fine! There is nothing wrong with them," and 'them,' because the child had now spoken of being neither son nor daughter, and Pride attached zero significance or favor to such meaningless constructs. "They do not have to perform some grand task to be family. They are themselves, that is enough," and this mock-tirade had a front of severity to it, as if he were indeed chewing out some rude outsider.

Then, more kindly, he continued. "You do not need to fit any label, or category. Those are arbitrary and meaningless. I'd suggest you stop worrying about what you are and start thinking about who you'll be. It is, and always has been, your values that count; how you treat others. If you remain so focused on yourself, you won't be able to be friend, family, ally, to anybody else. And everyone feels bad, from time to time; you are not an outsider in that."

He glanced ahead; his nostrils flared at the scent of flowers not far off. "I think we're coming up on Mercy shortly. I promise, it will likely help you to talk to him; don't run away, Temperance, because we do love you. There's nothing wrong with you at all."